Witch Coven
by Rachel McN
Summary: Arthur and his knights encounter some witches. It does not go well. Except for Lancelot, who seems oddly proficient at dispatching sorcerers.


**A/N: Because you know the knights can't lose when they have a warlock backing them up.**

* * *

Groaning through the haze encasing his mind, he blinks wearily, casting his gaze about and letting his eyes alight on the figure hovering anxiously above him.

As the fog of unconsciousness slips from him he begins to recognize the face of Elyan, and once discovering his arms have gone numb from being bound behind his back and crushed beneath him he decides to ask the question that haunted him most days he woke up disoriented.

"What the hell happened?"

Elyan shook his head, worry enveloping his features;

"Sorcerers, Sire. Or 'witches' as they're calling themselves. We invaded their 'coven' and they didn't take kindly to it."

Rolling onto his front, Arthur manages to struggle onto his knees and begin glancing around the large cavern they'd been left in. The solitary witch left to guard the prisoners sneers creepily back at him.

"The others?" he murmurs to Elyan. Before the knight can answer, two further witches appear in their sight, dragging the large form of Percival between them. Huffing as they drop him, one quickly bends to tie his wrists and the two sweep out of the cavern after a quick acknowledgement to their guard.

"Damn," Elyan hisses, shuffling forward to see how injured their comrade is, "they got him good."

Percival moans in response and makes no move to join the conversation.

A loud explosion can be heard resonating in the cavern, and two figures shoot through the stunned room, the infuriated witch shooting off sharp blue sparks at the frantically dodging Gwaine. They both disappear out another exit within a matter of moments and the occupants of the cavern are left to gape after the mad chase. A further rumbling and various curse words echo down the path until a final blast brings cautious silence in its wake. A hissing witch drags an unconscious Gwaine into the quiet room by his leg, snaps out a spell that causes twisting chains to bind around his body, and storms off.

Arthur whistles under his breath. Gwaine coughs. Elyan sighs.

Arthur settles back on his haunches, wondering which of his knights will come up with a successful escape or rescue plan, feeling vaguely impressed that Merlin hasn't yet joined them in the cavern.

The next to appear is Leon, crouching in the shadows as he stealthily approaches their relaxed guard. The flash of cold steel, a squawk of surprise, and Leon lies next to them, looking mournfully at the pile of dust his sword has become.

"Good try," a renewed Gwaine tries to comfort.

When the next witch hurries into the cavern, screaming about 'Henrietta' the gathered knights feel a spark of pride. Their attempts may all have failed but at least Lancelot is getting something right.

When Lancelot actually appears, all hell breaks loose. The witch who'd come running back _screams_ and flees, their guard can't seem to successfully hit the unconcerned knight with a single spell and is swiftly dispatched, and a further two witches who had appeared amidst the commotion panic, their spells turning on their own comrade. Lancelot seems practically gleeful by the whole thing.

When the event is over and an unharmed Lancelot unties them (taking his sweet time about it, Arthur thinks ruefully, massaging his sore shoulders) they manage to scramble out of the caves to find Merlin calmly brushing down the horses.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Arthur exclaims, oblivious to Lancelot's laugh/cough.

Merlin blinks innocently back at him, "You said and I quote 'watch the horses, Merlin, we don't want you becoming a princess in need of rescue. This is a job for _real_ warriors.'"

And if Lancelot bursts into outrageous laughter at those words, all present assume it is for the ridiculous situations they always end up in, and not for the secret warlock who would be chuckling behind them the entire ride back.


End file.
